


the rotten root at the base of her heart

by queercyberpunk



Category: Nana
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queercyberpunk/pseuds/queercyberpunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Nana had chosen Nobuo over Takumi? What if she had decided not to carry the baby?</p>
            </blockquote>





	the rotten root at the base of her heart

**Author's Note:**

> Essentially, I rewrote the scene where Nana K. breaks things off with Nobuo because I really liked Nobou and I hate Takumi's guts. So I wanted to fix it and this is the product. Written really quickly after finishing the episode where it comes to light that Nana's pregnant. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s strange, Hachi thinks as she curls around herself in bed, that the only sensation she can think of is Nobuo’s hair beneath her hand. He enjoys being preened by her, turning his head up into her palm as she runs her fingers through his hair. She likes the way his hair looks when they were in bed together, after washing each other’s backs in the cramped bath at his apartment. She thinks of his hair laying flat against his forehead, his ears stripped of their silver earrings.

Hachi thinks of his pleasant hum as she toyed with flyaway bits of fine blonde hair. She thinks how much shorter his hair is than Takumi’s; his hair had once fallen across her chest like rainwater, seeping into the crevices of herself and soaking her utterly.

She touches her hand to her stomach, still flat despite the life growing in it. Her fingers push up under her skirt, to get to the skin underneath. Her hand is slick with her own tears as she touches it to the plane of her stomach. A life, inside of her and growing. She quivers, and she feels tears threatening once again at the thought. A life that she and Takumi created together, conceived on the very bed she clings to like an anchor. 

She knows that Nobuo is coming. She knows the hurt she’ll see in his eyes. Those wide, honest things that have only ever looked softly on her. Hachi knows she’ll break his heart. 

Her hands grip at the skin in her stomach, as if to tear it from her. She’s shaking again and the tears are coming. She cries in complete silence; for once, she is beyond words. 

When the door opens, she isn’t ready. She feels frozen, a marble statue forever curled in on itself. She hears the footsteps but she still can’t turn and face him. She can’t look at Nobuo’s face so full of love. She can’t bear it. 

He’s speaking to her, but it feels hazy. The words are thick, heavy and roll desperately from his tongue.

If she was frozen before, now she’s melted at Nobuo’s pleading. She shaking all over and she crushes her hands against her face to stem the messy, snotty tears. Hachi thinks she must look terrible right now--fitting, as she’s a terrible woman. 

Nobuo tugs on her shoulder, then again with more force. Hachi resists him, but his third attempt has her turned over, facing him. Her eyes are snapped shut in desperation as the wracking sobs come from her mouth. She can barely form words as Nobuo crouches by her bedside. 

“Did you break it off with him?” Nobuo asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. It sounds like a plea. It sounds like a prayer. 

If she wants to keep the baby, Hachi knows she has to break his heart. She can’t look at him. If she does, she doesn’t think she’ll have the heart to do it. 

“Please, make an excuse,” he croaks, and he seems close to tears himself. “Anything will do. I’ll believe you.” 

It’s strange then, that Nana’s voice comes to her. Hachi sees Nana clearly in her mind’s eyes, imparting some abrasive bit of wisdom. It’s strange that she thinks of Nana’s words from the night that she and Shoji fell apart. Shoji, who is so like Nobuo. 

Nana is there, telling her to fight for what she wants. 

And yet that, Hachi thinks, that is the rotted root at the core of herself. Her wants have all been buried within other people. Within men who loved her, within Blast, within Nana. What she’s wanted is always to be loved, to be needed. And yet, Nana supposes she hasn’t the faintest idea on how to return the love she craves.

And she realizes that Nobuo was the first time she ever wanted to care for someone the way she wanted to be cared for. To run his uneven, cropped hair through her fingertips while he lay contentedly across her chest. To make sure that his dream came true. He was the first one she was truly willing to sacrifice for--whose happiness superceded her own.

I can’t look at him, Hachi thinks. If I look at him, I won’t be able to do this. 

“Look at me, Hachi,” Nobuo whispers. She thinks he’s crying now, but she’s not sure. “Please.”

Hachi, still trembling, cracks her eyes open. She can’t resist his final, desperate request and what she sees threatens to break her apart. She feels like that strawberry glassware that Nana had dropped a few weeks ago.

“I’m sorry,” Hachi says. She’s repeated it more times than she can count. 

Fight for him, says the voice in Hachi’s head.

I am alive, says the voice just below her stomach. 

“I love you,” Hachi says, and she reaches out to touch Nobuo’s hair. He doesn’t lean into like usual, nor does he smile. Instead his eyes are unblinking, pupils blown wide.

“Make up an excuse,” Nobuo says again, in a voice so small Hachi nearly misses it. 

“I wasn’t with him. When I was with you.” Hachi’s voice is low and gravelly from crying, and her words are shakily spoken, but she continues. “It was only you, Nobuo. Only you.”

Nobuo starts to cry at that, with Hachi’s fingers still threaded through his hair. 

“We can figure out what to do about the baby,” Nobuo says. “I can go back home. Take over the--”

“No.” Hachi’s tone stops Nobuo cold. 

“But I don’t have the money to raise a kid. There’s no guarantee Blast is gonna debut before--”

“No,” Hachi says again, and she’s crying again. But this time the tears are weak, slipping out of the corners of her eyes. “Your dream is my dream. I won’t have you give that up.”

“Oh, Hachi,” Nobuo says. He takes her hand from his hair and clasps it in his own. 

“I’ll get an abortion.”

“Hachi, neither of us have the money. And I don’t want to take anything from Takumi,” Nobuo says his name coldly, and tightens his grip on Hachi’s hand.

“I have money. In my savings account. My mother gave it to me for a wedding.”

“A wedding?”

“I can use that,” Hachi says, “and we can go back, to the way things were.”

Nobuo is silent for a time, still on his knees at her bedside. But he doesn’t let go of Hachi’s hand once. Hachi hopes he never does again. 

“I want to leave,” Hachi says, “before Takumi comes back. Please, take me to your apartment.” 

“Are you okay to walk?” Nobuo thumb brushes over the top of her hand. “Are you still sick?”  
“I’m fine,” Hachi lies. But she doesn’t want to see Takumi again. And she knows he’ll be persistent if they stay inside with the door locked. 

Hachi rises as if she’s awakened from some strange and terrible dream. She leans on Nobuo as she stands and searches for flat shoes that she walk in. Nobuo continues to support her, his hand wrapped around hers.

Hachi locks the door behind her when she leaves, and she can’t help but wonder where Nana is. Is she okay? Is she at Ren’s? Is she mad at Hachi? There are so many questions that flutter through Hachi’s mind as she turns the lock. 

The walk to the train station is an ominous one, their hands clasped as they walk in silence. Neither of them know what to say, and so neither of them try to make small talk. The subway ride is just as silent, as is the short trek to Nobuo’s apartment. 

Shin is gone when they arrive, and Hachi assumes he’s out on one of his business calls. Nobuo flicks on the lights as he guides her into his room and sits her down on the bed. 

“Can I get anything for you?” 

Hachi looks up at Nobuo, sees his concerned face beaming down at her. She wants to cry again, but she’s too spent. His gaze touches her as gently as moonbeams, radiating from the pale roundness of his face.

There are so many doubts in her, so many questions and variables like some jagged puzzle that never seems to fit together. Hachi knows she’s not clever enough to make sense of any of it. She wishes she was, but she also thinks that knowing the right answer must be a terribly sad thing. 

“A bath,” Hachi finds herself saying. “I want a bath.”

“I’ll run one for you,” Nobuo says, lingering for a moment before he unlinks their fingers and disappears into the other room. 

Hachi looks at her hand, turns it over and looks at her palm. She wonders which crease in her palm is the love line; she could use some divine wisdom. She curls up on top of Nobuo’s sheets as he draws the bath for her. It smells so like him--like cheap soap and cigarettes. She buries her face into the folds of his blankets, trying to bottle the scent in her mind. 

“The bath is ready.”

Hachi rises and allows herself to be guided into the bathroom. It’s strange, being treated like such a fragile thing, she thinks. She wonders if she’s really as frail as Nobuo’s gentle touch would imply. 

“Join me. Please?” Hachi says after Nobuo leads her into the bathroom. 

He looks as though he’s about to refuse, but after a moment of indecision her nods. He strips off his shirt as Hachi pulls her dress over her head. Then she unclasps her bra and pulls her panties down. She settles into the bathtub first, and then Nobuo climbs in behind her. It’s a small tub, so Hachi’s back his pressed up against Nobuo’s chest, and his legs wind around her as she leans into him. Hachi’s hand seeks out his under the water, and once she finds it she latches on. 

“You don’t have to get an abortion if you don’t want to,” Nobuo says. And Hachi knows he means it. She knows he would do everything in his power to make her happy, even at the cost of his musical career. He would throw it all away in a moment to provide for her.

“I want to,” Hachi answers, and she wonders if that’s a lie. She hardly knows herself.

Nobuo buries his face in the nape of her neck. Hachi closes her eyes as she feels him nuzzle into the meeting of her neck and shoulder. She wonders how she can hold so much love in her body, and how she came so close to letting it spill out of her. That precious substance that makes her burn, that warms her so. 

“I love you, Hachi.” 

“I love you, too, Nobuo.”

That is enough, Hachi thinks. And she knows now that when you pull a rotten root embedded deep within yourself, it might pull some more along with it. But she feels cleaner than she has in years, with Nobuo’s hair tickling the side of her neck. And for once, she will sacrifice.


End file.
